Why selfies and tweets are a matter of life and death

Another day in life. Another fortnight of selfies and trolls. Narendra Modi launched the "selfie with daughter" campaign; Shruti Seth tweeted against it and was bombarded by trolls. The New York Times promptly confused Digvijaya Singh’s photograph with his partner as a selfie-with-daughter. Singh was understandably very upset, although at a pinch he could have taken it as a compliment.

Selfies have become a matter of life and death. A Pakistani teen was shot dead by the police — he was taking selfies with a toy gun. In Saudi Arabia, another teenager posted a selfie with his dead grandfather, in which he pulls a cheeky face with his tongue sticking out. The kid and the hospital authorities are in trouble for "violation of public morals". Expect the worst. In another incident, a white tourist on her way to Africa for a holiday tweeted something silly about skin colour and getting a tan. She boarded her flight and switched off her phone. When she landed, and switched on her phone, she realised she had caused worldwide Twitter outrage. Within hours, her boss had fired her. Later, she fell into a depression, and had to be treated and counselled.

And yet people continue to tweet and take selfies. Strangers get outraged. Third parties like the government or bosses keep "taking action" against the offending individual, based on the reaction of strangers.

Status

The Chinese are cleverer. Long used to state control over their lives, they stick to safe topics. The latest fad in China is, hold your nose, the armpit selfie. Some commentators have noted that the selfie-culture is about narcissism. Is it that or is it about the lack of an imagination? Selfie-takers are not professional photographers. When they look through the view-finder they go blank. They don’t know what to look for in the external world. What do you do? You turn the camera back on yourself. We’ve done the face, we’ve done toes, we’ve done armpits – we are running out of body parts.

My status on social media is dubious to say the least. My phone has a front-loading camera but I have never taken a selfie. I’m on Instagram but I still haven’t put up a single photo. I hardly ever tweet. In fact, for the life of me, I cannot figure out where exactly the phenomenon called "Twitter outrage" takes place. Each time I hear the phrase, I imagine millions of people stomping their feet like Rumplestiltskin, their mouths all forming a gaping "o", like in Edward Munch’s "The Scream". They are all doing so in immaculate silence, on their phones, on their tablets, in the dead of night, the lips not moving, the fingers spewing venom.

Successful products create a need that previously didn’t exist. Four years ago, when Pond’s launched a facewash there were few takers. These days, facewash is a booming market. Soap companies successfully managed to convince Indians that the soap needs to be split into handwash, bodywash and facewash. Similarly Facebook, Twitter and Instagram created an artificial existential need, which we seemingly can’t do without. Overnight, we have a perverse and public need to know what the anonymous "other" thinks about us. This is supposed to be natural and innate. It wasn’t considered so 15 years ago.

Private

You shared things in private, in letters, in emails, with people who you thought shared your interests. The response was different. You can try it now. Put up a link on Facebook and you’ll get trolled by a friend. Send the same friend the same link in private, and you’ll get a more thoughtful response, and if not that, then at least one that is less excitable and reactive. When no one else is watching, you don’t need to perform. There is this irresistible instinctive desire to record everything that happens to us. If it’s not recorded, it’s somehow not real. It belongs to Plato’s realm of ideas. Take Coldplay vocalist Chris Martin’s secret gig at Summerhouse Café. What pleasure does it give anyone to see the entire gig through the eyes of a cellphone, which you hold with outstretched arms, like it’s a punishment.

Reservations

It must hurt. If I was there, I would have slipped the phone back into my man purse, stuck my hands in my pockets (or waved them in the air), thrown my head back and whistled along. Although I must say I’m grateful people took videos of the occasion. Vishal Dadlani’s brief bout of wordless singing, half-Mariah Carey and half-Shibani Kashyap, was priceless.

Still, I must say, for all my reservations, I’m a fan of social media simply for the joy of the new words it gifts us every few months, all of which are annually approved by that great arbiter of the English language: Scrabble, the board game. I can see some new words taking root in the foreseeable future. To Twiggle: to wiggle your toes while tweeting. To Twee: to take a leak whilst simultaneously trolling someone. The Twitteriaans, which I’m sure, will soon trend on Twitter complete with hashtag and handle and handbag. It stands for "kanwariyaans who tweet" as they thunder through north Indian towns and cities.

Twitter though is here to stay, in this life and beyond. Liveson is a company that promises to continue sending out your tweets long after you’re dead. Their slogan?: “When your heart stops beating, just keep tweeting”.